Runaway Murder

Book 4: Carson Stables Mystery

by Leigh Hearon

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Breaking free from her mounting responsibilities on the Olympic Peninsula, Carson Stables owner Annie Carson reluctantly swaps muddy jeans for breeches to attend a dressage event in Southern California. But after settling into elegant digs at a historic mansion, she finds herself surrounded by palace intrigue, backbiting riders, and cold-blooded murder. As Annie makes heads or tails of clues scattered around the show ring, she must figure out which of her new acquaintances is a killer—before the crazed culprit takes the reins . . . Praise for Leigh Hearon: "Here's a new heroine after my own heart. Plan to stay up all night with this one because this mystery is a winner right out of the gate!" —Fern Michaels, #1 New York Times bestselling author on Reining in Murder "This strikingly polished first mystery is, quite simply, remarkable. Reining in Murder has it all: rounded characters, likeable protagonist, thrilling, perfectly paced plot and impeccable narrative style . . . Leigh Hearon masterfully maintains the suspense to the very finish line." — Mystery Scene Magazine on Reining in Murder “Leigh Hearon seems destined for high marks with what is shaping up to be a delightful new series in the mystery genre.” — Colorado Daily News on Reining in Murder “This murder mystery will be enjoyed by anyone who likes chewing hay and wearing riding boots.” —Fresh Fiction on Reining in Murder “The action-packed scenes are stellar, as well as the descriptions of the gorgeous and dangerous Washington wilderness. This third in the series presents a unique heroine, one whose devotion to horses is as admirable as her wit and intelligence.” — Kings River Life Magazine on Unbridled Murder

Release date: June 26, 2018

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 368

Sample

“Well, I’d say this was a runaway success, wouldn’t you?”

A hearty slap on the back nearly knocked Annie over, and she grasped the first object she could find to keep from falling. It was a card table, stacked with appetizers, and for a moment, she thought the carefully crafted trays would crash to the floor along with her.

Annie had spent the past three days hauling fifty horses to the stable in which she was now standing. She was tired. Bone tired, in fact. Her muscles hurt, and apparently now a few more were going to, as well.

Wincing a bit, she looked up into the round, smiling face of Sheriff Dan Stetson, the head of law and order in Suwana County. He looked so pleased with himself, she couldn’t help but smile back.

“It sure is, Dan. It’s a wonderful party.”

Dan nodded smugly and moved his bulky frame toward a row of beer kegs. Annie watched him tap off a local microbrew. Well, he was off duty.

Looking around, Annie viewed the festivities, now in full swing. The stable was festooned with crepe, ribbons, and balloons. A large banner overhead read WELCOME TO ALEX’S PLACE! Guests crowded the appetizer tables and wine bar, and the buzz of animated conversations filled every corner. Judging by the fashionably dressed people surrounding her, the venue could have been Lincoln Center. Instead, it was a brand-spanking-new sixty-stall stable, an immense structure constructed of newly logged and planed Northwest cedar, oak, and Doug fir. Annie still couldn’t get over the cold and hot running water taps in each stall. No such amenities existed in her stable. She was used to breaking up icy water in her horses’ buckets each winter with a good thwack of a small shovel.

The sharp sound of amp adjustments reminded her a country-and-western band was gearing up to perform. When the band struck its opening chords, Annie knew real conversation would be impossible. The stable’s high rafters made conversations float to the ether zone and were hard enough to follow without extraneous noise.

Fortunately, the real tenants were nowhere near the noise. Fifty mares, gelding, foals, and yearlings were in several nearby pastures, contently munching on the last of the autumn grass that hadn’t turned dry and brown over the summer. When the party was over, all the horses would be led into their new quarters and put away for the night. She wondered whether they’d realize that they’d fallen into a permanent lap of luxury. Probably not, she decided. They already were used to three square meals a day at her friend Patricia’s place, Running Track Farms. But the fact that they’d never again have to worry about their next meal wasn’t lost on Annie.

She looked through the crowd and saw the man responsible—well, mostly responsible—for it all, Travis Latham, one of Suwana County’s most venerated citizens, who had purchased land once owned by Annie’s boyfriend, Marcus Colbert, and turned it into a rescue center for both horses and young boys, all of whom sorely needed help in their lives. Travis had named his nonprofit after his grandson, Alex, who’d died at the hands of young bullies years earlier. His goal was to thwart the too-often-inevitable journey into crime that at-risk boys seemed to embark on and to help them toward a better future. When Annie came across fifty abandoned horses that had been earmarked for the slaughterhouse, the board of Alex’s Place unanimously decided to take them on and let the boys participate in the rehabilitation and training process. It was an incredibly ambitious plan, Annie knew, but Travis—and Marcus—had spared no time or expense in getting the property ready for use. It was now early October. By Christmas, Travis hoped the bunkhouse, now under construction, would be fully occupied.

Threading her way through the chattering crowd, she reached Travis, who was just finishing up an interview with Rick Courtier, a reporter from KXTV in Seattle, a short ferry ride away. Annie noticed a tiny microphone clipped to a buttonhole in Travis’s wool vest. As usual, he was dressed in tweeds, along with a thick corduroy jacket with elbow patches. No one could surpass his sartorial splendor as the country gentleman, Annie thought, not even Marcus, whose tastes ran toward Armani.

“We believe the boys and horses will learn a great deal from each other,” Travis was saying.

Rick slowly nodded. “But isn’t it risky to let boys, many of whom have never been around horses before, participate in potentially dangerous activities?”

“Life is a risk, man!” Travis was impatient with the question, which Annie suspected he’d heard plenty of times before today. “Every single boy who comes here already is at risk, and in far more troubling ways than taking a fall off a horse. We’ll have skilled trainers and counselors, who will live with the boys and make sure they’re kept safe, as well as a full-time RN on board. But each boy will be responsible for taking care of his own horse. I suspect both student and horse will be teaching each other many important life skills before too long.”

Annie was standing next to a pole beam, partially hidden from sight. She had no desire to get caught up in an interview with Rick Courtier, who’d used every single wile he could imagine to wheedle information out of her earlier this year, after she’d come across a dead body. She had to admire Travis, though. He clearly knew how to use a reporter to get his story across.

Country music burst from the stage, and the interview was thankfully brought to a halt. Annie wiggled the last few feet to Travis and gave him a quick hug.

“You were marvelous,” she said, her eyes sparkling at him. “No one can deliver the message of Alex’s Place better than you.”

“Nonsense,” Travis said, but he smiled as he said it. “Everyone on the board is a good ambassador. I just get tired of hearing the naysayers. I have full faith in what we’re doing.”

“As do I,” Annie said firmly, and snared a glass of champagne from a roving waiter.

“Where’s Marcus?”

“Haven’t seen him since he gave his speech. We agreed to wander separately so we could meet and talk to as many prospective donors as possible.”

Travis laughed. “Excellent idea! We’ll take all the help we can get. I don’t know which will be more expensive, feeding fifty horses or fifty teenage boys. Whichever it is, it’ll be a bundle.”

“No doubt. But I can’t believe how beautifully you’ve designed the stables. Everything is at the boys’ fingertips. And a heated blanket room! I should be so lucky. My horses and I are green with envy.”

“We tried to implement as much on your dream list of stable amenities as we could, Annie. The less time the boys have to spend doing daily chores, the more time they have to ride, groom, and spend time with their horses.”

Annie gave an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t I know it.”

“But you’ve got Lisa now to help.”

She visibly brightened. “Yes, I do, and I hope she’ll never leave. I’ve told her she can get married and live on my property as long as she wants. I’ll even throw in a pony for her kids. She’s taken such a load off me, which is great, because I have a new horse to train.”

Annie felt her phone vibrating inside her blazer pocket, the cue that someone was trying to reach her.

“Hold on a sec.” She pulled out her phone and quickly scanned a text from Leif, a local volunteer fireman with multiple skills, including shearing sheep. A few weeks before, he’d done just that on Annie’s flock. Now he was handling a job usually Annie did herself—breeding the ewes for spring births. She’d been watching the ewes closely, and today on horseback, she’d inspected the flock, now in a pasture a mile from her farmhouse and soon to be moved to their winter home. The ewes were in heat, no doubt about it. And the ideal time to take advantage of their condition was precisely now.

“Getting there,” read the text. “20 tagged and 20 to go. How r u doing?”

Good for Leif, Annie thought. It wasn’t exactly a picnic herding the right ewe into the pen, tagging it after the deed was done, and extracting it without getting the ram too riled. She answered Leif’s subtle query of whether she’d be back in time to help.

“Good man,” she texted. “Back around 6.”

“Party on” was the brief, somewhat morose reply.

Annie felt a pang of guilt for not assisting in this yearly farm chore. But there simply was no way to predict exactly when the ewes would exhibit their telltale signs. In fact, the ewes were a bit early this year in demonstrating their desire for male companionship. Perhaps that boded a short and mild winter. Annie certainly hoped so.

She felt a hand on her arm and looked up. It was Patricia Winters, operations manager of Running Track Farms, a state-of-the-art rehab farm for hunter jumpers, dressage, and racehorses. Patricia had graciously let the fifty feedlot horses live on the premises while in quarantine after their rescue. Annie would have done anything for this woman. Without Patricia’s generous offer to house them during those first critical months, the abandoned horses might not have been saved.

“Annie, I want you to meet Liz Faraday, a student of mine. Liz, this is Annie, the woman I’ve been telling you so much about.”

Annie could feel a blush come over her. She wasn’t used to compliments, and she assumed that was what Patricia’s remarks meant.

“Nice to meet you, Liz,” she said, extending her hand. “Your name sounds a bit familiar. Have we met?”

“Over the phone.” Liz’s voice was high and pleasant. She was a slim brunette with long hair and was wearing riding breeches, just like Patricia. Annie thought for a moment, trying to recall the prior connection.

“You bought one of Hilda Colbert’s horses, didn’t you?”

“I sure did! As soon as I knew they were ready for new homes, I was at Running Track in a flash, wasn’t I, Patricia?”

“She was, indeed. Liz is one of my dressage students. We’ve been looking for a good prospect for her, but the pickings are slim around Cape Disconsolate. When I told her about Sammy, she was there in a flash.”

“Sammy?” Annie recalled that all of Hilda’s horses had much more highbrow names than that.

“Well, his real name is Samson, but you can imagine how long it took before that turned into Sammy,” Liz replied.

“Oh, yes.” Annie now vaguely recalled the horse, a Danish Warmblood with a pedigree that included a Grand Prix mare. “Was he the gelding originally touted for his ‘elastic back’ and ‘easy lateral work’?”

“Well, whoever wrote his description was correct,” Liz said. “I’m really just a beginner in dressage, but Sammy was trained to third level before coming to Colbert Farms.”

“Where he wasn’t used for much of anything, as far as I can tell,” Patricia chimed in. “But he obviously has a tremendous memory, because Liz is making fantastic progress with him.”

“I think it’s just the opposite,” Liz said, laughing. “Sammy’s making fantastic progress with me. In fact, we’re showing training level in a few weeks down in California.”

“Congratulations.” Annie voiced the word as warmly as she could muster. All she knew about dressage was that riders stood very straight and tall on large horses and maneuvered them from one marker to another in a big arena. And that they all wore tailcoats and hard hats. It all seemed rather silly. How much fun could going from letter A to letter C really be? Annie had barrel raced when she was a teenager in 4-H. She couldn’t imagine any equine sport providing a bigger thrill than that.

Marcus was suddenly at her elbow and gave her waist a discreet squeeze, which she immediately and warmly returned. Annie often wondered how such a large man could appear with such catlike ease. It was uncanny, but by no means unwelcome.

“My keen analytical mind tells me you three women are talking about horses. Am I right?”

“A mere child of three could have come to that conclusion,” Annie said drily. “After all, we are talking in a stable.”

“Exactly so. Well, ladies, are you enjoying yourselves?”

“Absolutely.” Patricia beamed at Marcus. “I’m so glad the rescue horses are finally here, all on time, and all of them healthy.”

“It was a minor miracle,” Annie said. “And we couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“All I did was give you pasture space that was going to waste. You and Jessica did all the work.”

Annie knew this was not quite true. Her equine vet, Jessica, had put heart and soul as well as her expertise into ensuring that every rescue horse had received the care it needed for a full recovery from the horrors it had lived through, even though many of those horrors would forever be unknown. But she’d often seen Jessica consulting with the team of rehab vets on staff at Running Track Farms and knew that Patricia had freely volunteered their time and services, as well.

“We were just telling Annie how much we’re enjoying working with Sammy, who came from your farm. Liz”—Patricia nodded to the woman beside her—“is soon going to compete him in dressage, and he’s doing wonderfully.” Patricia was being her usual polite and tactful self. Sammy had once belonged to Marcus’s wife, now deceased—murdered on the very land where they now stood.

“I’m delighted to hear that. Tell me, Annie, how many of Hilda’s herd are still looking for good homes?”

Annie immediately felt a touch of irritation. Wasn’t this a topic that should be discussed in private? But then, Patricia, once more, had been immensely helpful in finding homes for the more than twenty horses Hilda had left behind with her death, and Annie had made sure Marcus knew how invaluable she’d been. He’d hired Annie to do the job, but Patricia had really paved the way in finding the best prospects in the area. Annie was used to finding good trail or roping or ranch horses for her friends and clients. Hilda’s horses were out of her league, and deep down, she knew it.

“Only eight left, I believe. Right, Patricia?” She looked toward her friend.

“Yes, and Annie, I believe several of them have some dressage training in their background, just like Sammy. Listen, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you come down to the dressage show with Liz and me? We’ll transport the three or four horses that have had dressage training and show them at the grounds. Plus, you’d get a chance to see how one of your star athletes is doing in person.”

Several reasons why this would not be a good idea were bubbling on Annie’s lips, but Marcus jumped in before she had a chance to voice them.

“Excellent idea! Where is it being held?”

“Southern California, near Thousand Oaks,” Liz told him. “It’s rather a small show, but in a fabulous setting. Two retired movie actors, a couple who were big in the fifties, own the place, and they apparently draw quite an elite crowd. It would be the perfect place to show Hilda’s horses, Annie. Why don’t you come?”

This was too much. Everyone was telling her what she should do, and anyone who knew the well-regarded Western horse trainer Annie Carson was fully aware that she didn’t cotton much to blunt requests.

“I’m afraid it’s impossible, Liz. I’m in the middle of my sheep’s breeding season and couldn’t possibly get away.”

Liz and Patricia’s faces showed their disappointment. Annie lamely tried to soften her words.

“But I think it’s a great idea. Maybe some other time.”

“Unfortunately, it’s the last event of the season pretty much everywhere,” Patricia said sadly. “The next one won’t take place until April.”

Marcus groaned. “Don’t take this personally, Patricia, but I’m not looking forward to another six months of feeding those beasts. Perhaps we could cut down on the number of pedicures you give them?”

Patricia laughed. “Not a chance, Marcus. Not a chance.”

Back at Annie’s farmhouse that night, she fumed at Marcus’s surprising lack of tact earlier. Unfortunately, there had been no time to tell him how thoughtless he’d been. As soon as the celebratory party had ended, Marcus had left for the airport to fly home to San Jose. Pressing business awaited him in the morning, he reminded Annie, and when he’d prepared her for his hasty departure the day before, he had seemed genuinely disappointed. At least they had had one night together. But it was hardly enough, especially when Annie had so many well-aimed criticisms to throw his way.

Didn’t he know that selling horses wasn’t like a regular retail business? It was incredibly difficult to link a pedigreed horse with just the right owner. The person’s riding skills had to be aligned with the horse’s own strengths, plus the prospective owner had to assure Annie and Patricia that the horse would thrive in its new home. Both women were sticklers for checking out the horse’s new environment before any deal was struck. So far, every new home found for Hilda’s horses had been successful. No horse had been handed back, and Annie had made this a condition of sale. After seeing how easily unwanted horses ended up in feedlots, she was doubly insistent; her new Thoroughbred, Eduardo, had ended up in one through no fault of his own.

She was doing the best she could, and damn it, Marcus should know this by now. She was sorry he would have to continue paying very large boarding fees at Running Track. But she could only do so much in a day, and taking off for a frivolous weekend in Southern California, as well as taking on the expense of transporting several horses to the show, just seemed ludicrous right now. Why couldn’t everyone see that? She did.

Annie’s cell phone rang, and she picked it up without looking at the number. It was Marcus, who’d just landed. She could hear the echo of airport loudspeakers in the background.

“How’s my girl?”

Annie found she was having difficulty making a similarly breezy reply.

“Annie? Are you still upset about Patricia’s suggestion about showing Hilda’s horses in Southern California?”

The man wasn’t stupid, she realized. He’d noticed her reaction. To her surprise, tears pricked at the corner of her eyes.

“I have a lot to do here, Marcus! I’ve just spent the last three months caring for the rescues, and I need a break to deal with my own life. Why is that so hard to fathom?”

She could hear Marcus’s sigh on the other end of the line.

“I know your plate is more than full, Annie. That’s why I thought a relaxing long weekend at a completely different horse venue might be fun. You and Patricia and Liz would have a great time together. You might sell a horse or two. And I’d do everything in my power to join you at least for a day.”

Annie considered this. It sounded almost reasonable. In fact, it was reasonable. Then she remembered and gave a small groan.

“No, I really can’t. Leif finished the breeding today, but we’ve still got to transport the flock to Johan’s. And that’s not counting the new horse in my stables I’m supposed to be training.”

“One long weekend away can’t do that much damage to your training or transportation schedules. Look at it this way. Everyone else will be performing—you get to sit around and watch them all sweat. Your only real job is to make sure any interested buyer is properly feted and vetted. And I’m sure Patricia can help you with that.”

Despite her earlier misgivings, Annie was now on the verge of changing her mind. But then Marcus spoke, and inadvertently put his foot squarely in it.

“Besides, I thought that’s what Leif was planning on doing today. Couldn’t he have just had the ewes breed, then transport them all in one day? That way, you’d have accomplished both jobs at once.”

It was too much. Maybe Marcus could put together three mergers in a single day. Maybe he had a huge desk in his office with nothing on it but a large paper clip. Annie could only concentrate on one horse at a time. Her office at home was littered with paper and unread magazines. But the worst part was that he was right.

She ended the call with forced civility, poured herself a small glass of Glenlivet, and picked up her phone once more.

“Patricia? It’s Annie. I hope I’m not calling too late. I’d be delighted to come down to Southern California with you and Liz. How soon can we transport the horses?”

A shriek of delight emanated from Patricia’s end, followed by rapid conversation. When it stopped, Annie paused, then cautiously asked her friend, “Just one more thing. What exactly should I bring to wear?”

Annie watched her suitcase slowly swivel onto the slanted conveyer belt and land with a resounding thunk on the revolving circle below. Her stomach felt as churned up as her luggage might have been had it been an animate object. Aside from one screaming toddler whose lung capacity rivaled that of an opera singer’s, the two-and-a-half-hour flight had been uneventful—but Annie had spent the entire time obsessing about the foolhardiness of the journey she’d agreed to make.

She now yanked her bag off the slowly moving track and sighed. Her qualms about making the trip had started once she acquired her clothes, neatly packed inside the suitcase she now held. In addition to the usual sundries, it currently contained two pairs of English full-seat breeches, several polo shirts, and a navy-blue schooling coat. She had never worn such garments in her life, nor had she ever expected to. And then there were the two—two!—adorable little cocktail dresses that somehow had made their way in, as well.

It was all her friends’ fault. Thanks to the recent horse-rescue mission, which had required every single one of her equestrian friends, every friend was now on everyone else’s contact list. When word got out that Annie would be attending a dressage event in Southern California, they all came to the fore with the same fervor as they had when rescuing horses bound for slaughter.

“Don’t be absurd,” was Samantha Higgins’s blunt response to Annie’s innocent remark that she intended to wear her dress cowboy boots and jeans to the event—what else would she wear, for heaven’s sake?

Apparently, Sam’s opinion was universal, because the next day, Annie found herself bundled into a truck with Sam, Lisa, and several other friends, all determined to shop until they dropped. The first stop was an equine shop that catered to the English riding crowd. Annie had balked at purchasing a pair of dressage boots—the price alone was enough to thwart that idea—but she had let herself be talked into more moderately priced attire. She had to admit she liked how tight breeches with spandex made her long legs and waist appear even longer, and they were actually comfortable, too. She was wearing a pair now, along with a more sensible pair of boots that for reasons that escaped Annie, were called “paddocks.” If she’d worn them just once in her own paddock, they’d soon be encrusted with mud and worse.

Purchasing the cocktail dresses was an act of utter insanity as far as Annie was concerned, but her friends had gushed so much over how she looked in the Nordstrom dressing room that her resolve quickly withered. Even the personal shopper Sam had snared seemed impressed with how just a slip of fabric, artfully designed, brought out Annie’s slim and very toned figure.

“Which one should I get?” Annie had asked her crowd of admirers, twirling around a bit so she could get the view in back.

“Both.” Again, the vote was unanimous, and Annie didn’t protest. The truth was, she loved them equally. But when her friend Luann suggested that perhaps she should look for “just one more,” Annie put her foot down.

“You’ll be there five nights,” Luann had protested. “You can’t wear the same dress more than twice. It’s just not done!”

“Watch me,” Annie replied.

Now she looked down at the suitcase with all her new clothes and wondered what she had gotten herself into. Hadn’t Thoreau once written, “Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes?” Her highschool English teacher would not be impressed by how little she had soaked in that lesson.

A buzz from within her Giani Bernini purse—another unnecessary purchase, in her opinion—broke her reverie. It was Patricia, who’d agreed to pick her up at LAX.

“Are you here? Are you on the ground?” Patricia sounded uncharacteristically bubbly.

“I am, and just snared my bag. Where are you?”

“In a cell phone lot, not too far away. What island are you closest to?”

Annie looked toward the exit doors. It looked gloriously sunny outside. How lovely. She’d left Sea-Tac in a gloomy drizzle.

“I think it’s twenty-two. Yes, that’s it. Twenty-two.”

“Be there in half a tick!”

The line went dead. Annie walked toward the exit and out into the enticing glow of California sunshine. It was very warm. The sky was blue as far as she could see. She stopped for a moment, letting the unexpected heat settle over her as other passengers strode by. A sudden soft breeze caressed her body. She raised her face to catch more of it and realized the overhead sun was very bright, indeed. She fumbled inside her purse for her sunglasses and put them on, feeling like a Hollywood star who wanted to remain incognito. Things were definitely looking up. Although it occurred to Annie that she had no idea what Patricia would be driving.

When a cobalt blue Mercedes-Benz convertible zipped up to the curb five minutes later, she had her answer. Patricia jumped out and gave Annie an enthusiastic hug.

“Very cool sunglasses! How was the flight?” she asked, as she took Annie’s bag and placed it in an already popped trunk.

“Fantastic. Thirty minutes in the air and the rain clouds . . .